


The Red Sea

by MikeyPW



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Character Development, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fanon, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay, Gay Male Character, M/M, Mild Smut, wrenchers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeyPW/pseuds/MikeyPW
Summary: Numbers always thought it was funny. Their boss, Moses Tripoli, obviously had a biblical name. Biblical Moses had been famous for parting the Red Sea. But Moses Tripoli had done nothing but surround Numbers and Wrench in a Red Sea. A sea of blood.A journey through Number's and Wrenchs' relationship throughout the years.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Wes and Grady Are Introduced

Trouble followed Wes and Grady around as if it were on a leash. From birth, their parents had seen them as trouble they couldn't afford to bare and so they were both sent to a children's home in North Dakota. Grady had arrived at the home first at just four years of age. The staff there had been hopeful for he was a charming-looking kid, but the fire in his eyes and relentless defiance that he possessed made sure he was never to be adopted.

Three years later, when Grady was seven, a kid turned up. Before this new arrival, Grady was the only kid who ate in the canteen alone and slept alone, and played alone and was just generally very alone. Wes was an odd-looking kid. He was tall for a five-year-old, with wavy brown hair that had vivid tints of ginger and piercing green eyes. Those eyes of his always conveyed the majority of his emotions, when he was devastated, pissed off, exhausted, ecstatic. Grady knew how to read him straight away, he knew what he meant even though - at that point in time - neither of them knew any form of sign language.

Wes' first few years at the home were brutal, but having Grady by his side - an unexplainably devoted companion - made it bearable. It took the staff almost a year and a half to figure out that Wes was deaf and why he was seemingly the most ignorant kid on the planet. They tried hearing aids but to no use until they finally brought in a tutor to teach him ASL. Grady, as strong-willed as he was, forced the tutor to teach him as well even though his hearing was absolutely fine.

As they both learned the new language, their bond grew stronger and stronger until if you saw one without the other you'd have to assume they had died. ASL created their own private world, one where the universe revolved around them and them alone. Unfortunately, their new world of signing did not gel well with the other kids at the home. Every week they would have to go through a routine beating by the older kids; black eyes, broken noses. This forced them to only ever speak in ASL behind closed doors when none of the other kids were watching. That was until they grew older and stronger. Eventually, the beatings stopped hurting and the bruises healed faster and they could stand their ground.

This only meant that instead of the eleven-year-olds, they graduated to the fists of the thirteen-year-olds and occasionally the fifteen-year-olds.

The home would often leave Wes and Grady to their own devices as they stirred up quite the ruckus if any staff member tried to take control. So once when Grady was thirteen and Wes was eleven, they were throwing a baseball on the field only a few blocks away from the home. Their first mistake. They were no adults watching out for them and the home was too far away to run if trouble came around.

And trouble always came around.

Little did they know the right kind of trouble was just about to walk their way.

Three tenth graders, all tall, lanky and pimply-faced, strode up to them with egos as big as the fucking moon with stupidly smug smirks on their greasy faces. They were obviously still in high school but to Grady and Wes, they seemed to be at least thirty. They stalked up to them with the hunger for power glinting in their eyes. As they stopped in front of them, their gangly figures loomed over the younger boys like the Empire State Building to an ant.

Grady was smooth, acting like he himself was their age and a dear friend of theirs, using his quick wit and sharp tongue to try and talk himself out of the situation. Wes on the other hand stayed silent, as always. He puffed his chest out as he mustered all the confidence and strength an eleven-year-old can manage. He didn't need to hear what they were cheerfully spitting his way to feel the anticipation of what was going to happen next on his skin.

The whole situation ignited when one of them wrestled Grady to the ground, holding a hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming out a warning to Wes. Of course, he wouldn't have been able to anyway, but they thought they were being real smart as another one of them came up behind Wes and grabbed his legs, holding his whole body upside down. As much as Wes thrashed and writhed in his grip, attempting to punch anything they could, it came to no use as the other boy who wasn't holding him kneed him in the stomach before kneeling down to punch at his head and face.

Grady cried out desperately from the other side of the field as the boy on top of him laughed and slapped him around a couple of times.

"You like seeing your retard boyfriend getting beaten up, huh?" He chuckled maliciously and mockingly puckered his lips close to Grady's face. "You tiny little faggo-"

Before he could finish that sentence, Grady had taken advantage of the small space between them and headbutted him right in the nose. The blood from the older teen's face splatted all over Grady's forehead but he could hardly care as he attempted to wriggle from beneath him.

Before any of the tenth graders could throw another punch, one of them (the one kneeing Wes in the stomach) screeched out a terrible wail of pain. A man, possibly in his mid to late thirties with long, stringy black hair and a bandage over his lower cheek had the teenager's arm twisted in an ugly position. So much so, that his shoulder actually popped out from its usual place with a satisfyingly crude sound.

The stranger's ebony eyes looked to the other bullies with a regal deadliness about them. "You leave these kids alone, okay boys? Or where going to have more problems than just a dislocated shoulder." He growled lowly beneath his breath.

He released the teen and all three of them ran like they'd die if they didn't. Which wasn't so far from the truth.


	2. And Moses Tripoli Is Introduced

Moses Tripoli figured the best way to start a new life, a new organisation, and a new empire was to start from scratch. And that's just what he did. He knew a helpless soul when he saw one and in front of him were two. It just so happened that these helpless souls were also determined fighters. That made these two scrawny little kids the perfect foundation for his new criminal empire.

It all happened so quickly, adopting the kids. He didn't even know their names when he walked into the shitty, rotting home where they lived. The staff were so shocked that he wanted to take home a totally deaf kid and a kid with the most uninviting stare you could imagine, but they let him do it without question - part of him thinks they were so relieved to get rid of them.

Grady and Wes followed tentatively behind the stranger that now held their adoption papers as he walked in the direction of a car park. He leads the two kids to a bulky, beaten-up Chevy and stopped to pluck his keys from his pocket.

"Front or back?" He asks, his speech kind of slurred from the injury to his jaw that was hidden by the bandage. Wes frowned, not knowing how to read the guy's mangled and frozen lips, and looked to Grady.

 _He asked if we want to sit in the front or the back of the truck_. He translates whilst Moses waits patiently for their answer.

 _Back?_ Wes answered, his broad eyebrows asking if Grady agreed with his proposition.

Moses helped them into the cargo tray at the back of his Chevy before getting into his own seat and starting the car. As Wes and Grady sat there, alone with the wind tossing their hair all over the place, they sat so close together it was almost as if they were Siamese twins joint at the hip. Whilst the road past by in a blur around them, they kept peering into the rear window of the truck at the peculiar man driving. His charcoal eyes were always glaring back at them through the rear-view mirror.

Grady's breath started to pick up its past at a dangerously panicked rate and his knuckles turned white as they gripped and tore at the sides of the cargo tray. He squeezed his eyes shut for the first time in years. He never did that when Wes was around. Never. It meant he couldn't see him, hear him, it meant he wasn't there and Grady simply couldn't bear that. But right now, with toxic bile rising steadily but his throat and his heart fizzing away in his chest. He didn't know what was going to happen and, for Grady's methodical mind, it was as if the world was ending. This guy could kill them, could hurt them, could leave them by the side of the road but worst of all, he could separate them. Grady almost hurled his guts up at the thought of that until he felt five little, shaky fingers, interlaced with his. It was as if the harder Wes squeezed his fingers, the safer and more protected he'd be.

Opening his eyes, Wes signed something to him that calmed his nerves instantly.

_We're gonna be okay. We're together and that can't possibly change so we'll be okay._

Half of the time Moses was driving he spent watching the road and the other half he spent looking through the rear-view mirror at the kids he was now a guardian of. They would spy on him occasionally, watching Moses with a terrified curiosity. It was that curiosity that assured Moses he had made the right choice. Dumb kids are never curious.

He drove them all a couple of hours towards the city of Fargo but stopped before they actually travelled within the city's border. He found a deserted farmhouse, one with a sturdy brick fireplace, a semi-clean kitchen and two rooms. It was decided to be the beginning of his syndicate. The structure sat on a generous block of farmland with plenty of meadows that was fenced in by prickly blackberry bushes.

The two rooms were tiny and horribly insulated shack - one for him and one for the boys. Eventually, the shack would grow into a house, then a house into a mansion, then a mansion into a palace. And before long, a palace into a kingdom - an empire.

Moses lifted the two boys out of the cargo tray of his Chevy and they both stood there rigidly, watching his every move with big eyes. Moses' eyes drifted down to where the two boys held hands but didn't offer a comment upon it. He leads them both into the house where they gaped at what would be their home for the next six years of their lives.

Tripoli was pleasant enough although the image of him violently twisting the tenth grader's arm stuck in their minds. He cooked them dinner on their tiny, creaky stovetop and they gobbled it up gratefully. After dinner, he helped them set up their room by putting sheets on the bed and placing a candle and matches on the bedside table as the lightbulb was broken.

 _I don't like him._ Wes had signed with a pout their first night with Moses, a small candle flickering in the space between them so they could see each other sign.

Grady rolled his eyes and signed back _. But he saved us, remember! We're free! No more kids at that stupid home with suppressing superiority complexes and no more mashed potatoes for every single meal we have._

Although Wes understood and agreed, he couldn't bring himself to nod. He looked away from where Grady's inky eyes shone with the reflection of the candle's flame. _He is scary._

Little Grady know as he slung his arm around Wes’ muscular shoulders and comforted him that not a day in both their lives would pass where they weren't absolutely, utterly petrified of Moses Tripoli.

When Moses saw the warm light seeping onto the floorboards from the crack below the boys’ door, he noiselessly came to stand by the door, opening it just a sliver. The two figures were sitting opposite each other on the small bed with a candle set between them. Their hands created shadows on the walls and they created various shapes and expressions. Moses had no clue what they were saying but he knew that it was earnest.

Wes, the younger, fairer one, said something with a look of fear glimmering in his eyes that Moses couldn’t comprehend and Grady didn’t reply. Instead, he slid the candle out of the way and slung an arm across the younger’s muscular shoulders. As Moses watched the two preteens interact he was sure that he could not have chosen two people on Earth with a more indestructible and stable bond.

They boys went from being twisted in each other’s arms and their heads leaning lovingly against another to not having a single atom of theirs touch in less than a millisecond. When Moses opened the door fully to reveal his presence, both kids scrambled away from each other to opposite ends of the bed.

Moses, calmly and silently, sat between them, taking the candle and putting it on the nightstand. “Alright now,” He said carefully, looking each kid directly in the eyes, seemingly catching a glance at their souls before he returned to staring directly into the dead air front of him. “Listen up carefully. Because I don’t want to have to repeat myself. I’m not your father, you’re not my sons and it’ll never be that way. I will feed you, provide a place for you to sleep and other essential items but I don’t want you thinking that I’m going to tuck you into your beds and kiss your foreheads or whatever the fuck you think.”

Grady’s hands translated each and every word that was spoken to them, his lips mouthing the words along with the signing of his hands so Wes understood fully.

The way Grady signed for Wes, often compromising his own time and energy to make sure his counterpart was never, ever left out of anything, showed Moses that he had done well picking this pair. Trust was often lacking in his line of business but it was essential for efficient work.

Wes nodded once Grady finished. “We get it.” Grady said to Moses. This was the first time Moses saw it, in both of them. In the very blackest crevice of their round pupils, there was a soul that had lived a million lives, learned a billion things and suffered a trillion tragedies.

He’d made a damn good choice and soon it’d be reinforced even more so.


	3. And They Get an Assignment

Moses watched the boys from the kitchen window with light amusement and a critical eye. In one of the fields, they had set up a rather impressive snow structure. They had moulded the white power into two bases, one each and were using them to protect themselves from the other boy’s snowballs. It was sort of like a game of intense laser tag but using snow as ammo instead.

He examined with surprise when he saw that Wes had set up a trap for Grady by putting a lump of dead grass on a heap of snow to act as his hair before sneaking around the edges of the field to behind where Grady had set up his base. Grady, unaware, kept throwing snowballs at the tuft of grass. To Moses’ surprise, Grady remained unheeding to Wes’ presence until Wes tackled him to the ground and squashed a fat snowball into his black hair.

Admittedly, Moses had underestimated Wes’ abilities, but seeing him acting with such intelligence, artful deceit and subtlety showed him that he was just as cunning as Grady. Moses had long expected Grady to hear his footsteps come up behind him in the brittle snow seeing as Wes couldn’t even hear his own footsteps and couldn’t tell their volume, but he was pleasantly mistaken.

Grady laughed loudly and tried sorely to shove Wes off him as snow went down the front of his coat despite his scarf. With his free hand, he clawed at the ground and grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it directly into Wes’ face. They called it even with a hug and Wes scraped the snow out of Grady’s hair.

That was until Grady heard a click off in the far distance, up where the house was. It was faint, almost unnoticeable. Wes followed his gaze before immediately pulling his body over Grady’s. The older wrapped Wes’ head in his arms in vain attempts to protect him.

Moses stood by the kitchen door, a shotgun aimed at the two boys, the barrel cocked ready for shooting. It was common knowledge that no one to ever roam this Earth was a better shot than Moses Tripoli. They were beyond dead meat.

Wes’ breath was loud and rapid next to Grady’s ear as they grasped onto each other for dear life. There was nothing nearby for them to hide themselves from the vile bullets apart from Grady’s snow shelter but that wouldn’t slow a bullet down let alone stop it. So there they were, wrapped up in each other for safety, a human shield.

He didn’t shoot though and every second that past, the boys’ heartbeats grew quicker and quicker until they realised what he’d done. Grady’s heartbeat stayed at a lightning speed but for a different reason as he untangled himself from around Wes.

 _Fuck you!_ He signed violently once he stood up, his hand movements large and animated so that Moses could see it from the distance. “Just fucking shoot us, psychopath!” He screamed, his voice filled to the brim with rage as it echoed off of the winter air.

With a calm slowness, Moses lowered his gun and walked back inside.

 _What the fuck was that for!?_ Wes asked Grady with his ivy eyes wide.

 _He wanted to see our reaction._ Grady replied with his teeth gritted.

Later that night, Grady sat in a seething silence at the dinner table, his raven eyes boring holes into Moses skin as he refused to eat a single drop of the tomato soup in front of him just to spite him.

“Are you happy?” He spat and Wes automatically sank into his chair as if trying to make himself disappear. Moses remained unphased, he didn’t look Grady’s way as he took another sip of his soup. “I’m not sure if you’ve realised but our lives haven’t been the easiest. We’ve got enough on our fucking plates without thinking we’re about to get shot.” He growled and finally, Tripoli turned to glare directly into the younger man’s eyes.

His voice was disturbingly flat when he spoke. “You want an easy life? Pity? To grow old?” He asked.

Wes watched the conversation between Moses and Grady like someone who only hears one side of a phone conversation. He could read Grady’s lips and could sense his rage from across the table, but with Moses’ flat, expressionless face and frozen lips, he couldn’t understand.

Before Grady could bite back, Moses continued. “Because you’re dreaming, kid. People like us three aren’t allowed to live normal, cheerful lives. We’re never going to be those people.”

That was it. There was not a single sliver of room for Grady to rebut, so instead, he sat there sourly, looking down at his lap. He knew it was true though and part of him would begrudgingly admit that he couldn’t survive having a normal life where he went to high school, got bullied, went to college before landing a job he hated and having to live it out until he was all old and withered and retired and dead. Moses was right. He wasn’t that kind of person. He was the kind of person that wasn’t really designed to ever grow old; to own a short but thrilling and reckless life.

Moses got up from the table and left the room briefly before returning with a slick silver briefcase in his hands. He placed it on the table for the boys to see and they gazed at it curiously.

“This is what is going to happen.” He said before cocking his head in Wes’ direction as an order for Grady to translate. “You’re going to drive thirty miles to a bar, drop this off, say you’re from Fargo and come back.”

Wes and Grady exchanged a look from across the table. This was the beginning of the rest of their lives and they could taste it on the tips of their tongues.

{**^**}

_This delivery deal he's got us doing isn't just running errands, Wes! It's part of some kind of business, like a mafia-type deal._ Grady sat cross-legged on the bed in front of Wes, his hands rapidly forming shapes and symbols so madly, Wes struggled to keep up. The thirteen-year-old's thick eyebrows were knitted together as he replied.

 _How could you be sure? We're just going to drop something off at a restaurant._ Wes said and Grady sighed audibly. He knew Wes was far from dim or thick in the skull, but boy could he act like it sometimes. It was the innocent optimist in him.

Grady shook his head, which was covered in heavy midnight ringlets that he attempted to brush back. _A bar. Not a restaurant. That's an important detail. It's a drop, a drop-off point for people in a business where you can't just hand something to another person because it'll be seen. That's why there's this drop, to be discreet._

"You got a good head on your shoulders there, kid." Moses suddenly spoke, leaning against the doorframe of their room silently. He did that, sneak up on the boys and watch their conversations when they thought they were in private. Moses couldn't speak ASL himself but he knew what each sign meant and could read it well enough. He had never bothered to learn it though, not even a few common words and that's why Wes still held a certain degree of resentment towards him.

Grady and Wes knew that the men surrounding their house and guarding their fences were hardly just friends of their guardian's and they knew what had happened when Moses came home with blood-stained sleeves and they knew what was being discussed behind closed doors. Wes was still in denial, for reasons unbeknownst to Grady about how their guardian was a gangster and a nasty, brutal one at that.

"So I'm right?" Grady asked with a small, slightly proud smile.

"Exactly. Tell him he needs to cut out the innocence or he's not going to survive." Moses said monotonously, looking to Wes who was semi-oblivious to their conversation. Grady hesitated and snuck Wes a very sorry look before doing as he was told, he hated when Moses made him say unpleasant things to Wes.

The younger boy's eyes fell slightly but he looked up at Moses with determination and nodded sharply. The native American nodded back in return and writhed his way onto the bed in between them. The boys exchanged a knowing glance for their guardian only ever sat with them when something of extreme importance was going to be brought up. He reached under the back of his shirt and pulled out the two pistols that had been tucked into the waistband of his jeans. As if he were the Queen knighting dames and knights, Moses handed them both a gun each. It felt at home between Wes’ fingers at once. The weight, the coolness of the metal and the knowledge of the power it possessed, he fell in love with it instantly. Grady on the hand took a while to warm up to it. Right there, in his hand, he had control over another thing’s mortality and the idea of that didn’t sit so easily with him.

That was until he thought of his father, his blood father. A glimpse of the gnarled, dark-featured face came into his mind and he conjured up the image of him standing in front of him, the gun cocked and aimed directly at his father’s forehead - ready to end his life at the drop of a hat.

That was the moment he fell in love with the gun.


	4. And They Escape Via Car Chase

When he was fourteen, Grady had been taught how to drive by Moses. The Chevy truck would often be seen thrashing through the fields of the Tripoli farm property, Wes hanging out of the passenger seat window with his hair tangled with the wind. Grady was good driver, reckless no doubt but skilled nonetheless. The thing was, he was only fifteen now which meant he didn’t have his full licence.

He drove along the increasingly busy streets in the direction of the bar Moses had given them, Wes sitting beside him and the silver briefcase they were to deliver at his feet. Grady’s hands were busy on the wheel and as a result, they couldn’t have a conversation. Instead, Grady and Wes’ hands simply sat on the gearstick, their fingers laced together. They often did that, in the confines of their room or when they were mucking about in the bush of their property, out of view of the house. Neither of them took it to mean anything in particular and didn’t waste their time thinking about it, philosophising it. It was what it was – something they just _did_ sometimes.

The radio crackled away in their stereo for Grady’s sake and a cop car passed by them. They both knew as soon as the officer happened to look their way and see two suspiciously young kids driving that they were in the shit. They signalled their sirens and the blue and red flashed once briefly before they stopped in front of Grady and Wes. Any normal, of age person would have stopped, rolled down the window and done the whole ‘what seems to be the problem, officer?’, but not them.

Grady’s foot was suddenly made of lead as he pushed the gas and overtook the cop car, zooming away into the distance. Wes grinned and gave his hand a squeeze. The chase had begun.

These cops evidently had a slow reaction time as it took them a while to find themselves and start racing after the teenagers. Grady’s heart picked up its pace at the same rate, the car gained speed once he heard the sirens blaring and saw the flickering lights in his rear-view mirror. He couldn’t help the slightly evil smirk that plagued his lips as the adrenaline flooded his veins.

He let them gain on him, eventually getting right up the arse of the car. That was when he heard a “Come on, kid! You stop this now and we’ll let you off easy, but you’re just gonna make it worse if you keep this up!” from the car’s speaker. He almost laughed – let him off easy his arse.

They were just about to pass by a turn off when Grady swerved the car, causing the tires to screech. The cops, who were not expecting such a move, rushed right on past the exit before coming to a squealy brake and backing up to take the turn. By the time they had, the Chevy was nowhere to be seen along the lengthy stretch of road.

The cop car, still with its sirens blaring, hammered on past where Grady had turned into a random driveway and hidden the truck behind the house. Making sure they were long gone, they drove back on their way to the bar casually.

{**^**}

_Got your gun?_ Wes asked and Grady nodded as they hopped out of the car. With a deep breath, they marched into the bar with all the confidence of an actor walking to get their Oscar.

The bartender chuckled when he saw them. “Sorry lads but I think you’re in the wrong joint. The Mall’s still a few miles yet.” He smirked but it faded once he saw that the two menacing teenagers weren’t phased by his comment. The taller one placed a weighty suitcase on the bar and stared at him blankly.

“From Fargo.” Grady explained monotonously, his eyes much older and more terrifying than any fifteen year old’s should be. In unison, the two freakish teenagers spun on their heels and left. Just like that.

On their way home they stopped by an arbitrary field and sat against a tree, shooting rabbits and mice and whatever else they saw.

 _Do you think this will be the rest of our lives?_ Grady before lining up the barrel of his gun with an ivory rabbit off in the distance and squeezing the trigger.

 _Working for Tripoli you mean?_ He asked, his fingers numb from the bitter cold as he formed the words.

_Yeah._

Wes sighed a noiseless sigh and nodded solemnly. _I think so. I mean, where would be without him? At the home with broken bones and bruises? We kind of owe it to him._

Grady sat silently, letting the words sit with him for a moment. He agreed but didn’t exactly like the fact they’d gotten themselves into something like this. _I guess._ _What type of jobs do you think he’ll get us to do?_

 _Deliveries at first._ He replied, quickly shooting a mouse approximately four feet away before continuing. _Then he’ll work us up to bigger, more dangerous tasks._

 _Like what?_ Grady asked tentatively.

_Like murder._


	5. And They ****

Since Grady was eight and Wes was six, they had shared a bed. Not a night had gone past in those seven years that they hadn’t felt the warmth of each other close by. Whenever Grady would have a panic attack or Wes would suffer a nightmare, they were there for one another, to soothe and calm each other down. So when Moses bought them a second bed and had it set up in their room, when it came time to fall asleep, neither of them could. Grady could hear the rustle in the sheets every time Wes restlessly switched positions or rolled over. Despite the multiple blankets, Grady couldn’t help but shiver without the extra body heat beside him. He tried to tough it out though, sorely endeavouring to deny his interdependent nature.

But when he heard Wes’ sheets ruffle, followed by his almost mute footsteps, his heart skipped a beat. The bed dipped and the blankets lifted as Wes shifted in behind Grady, his arms encircling his torso and pulling him closer. Grady shakily exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. As he closed his eyes, finally feeling as if he could sleep, he let himself be engulfed by the smell of Wes.

Wes nudged his nose into the nape of his companion’s neck, burying his face into his sable black hair. Butterflies frothed away in his stomach when he felt a quiver run down Grady’s spine in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to stay this way for the rest of his life, touching Grady, being swarmed by his presence, smelling his olive skin and feeling his every breath against every inch of his body. He wished and yearned, painfully so, for the airy feeling of Grady’s lips on his, sensitively grazing against one another. He’d never kissed someone before but he could imagine the bliss of it.

Neither of them had ever really had any women around. The home had been segregated into a boy’s wing and a girl’s wing and the two had rarely crossed paths and all the people that roamed around the Tripoli property were vicious-looking men. The only women they ever really saw were the ones paid to entertain Moses every so often and even then, it was always a different one each time. Wes had never really cared, he barely gave it any mind. He couldn’t see the appeal of wide hips, long hair, plump lips, but instead rathered Grady’s broad shoulders, shapeless legs and slim waist.

Grady. Grady. Grady. It was always Grady.

{**^**}

As they brushed their teeth, Grady allowed his gaze to drift over to Wes’ reflection. He was busy peering intently at his face as he scrubbed away at his teeth, a gentle frown between his brows.

 _What am I meant to do about this?_ Wes suddenly asked through the reflection of the mirror, snapping Grady away from his rather indecent thoughts about the younger teenager. The older stood up from where he was seated on the toilet lid and looked at the light red hair protruding from Wes’ chin.

 _You shave it, doofus._ He chuckled, spitting out his toothpaste and washing his brush.

 _How?_ Wes asked, running his fingertips over the coarse hair.

 _I’ll show you._ Grady said before searching the cupboards for the right equipment. He had been just as clueless at fourteen, Moses showing him how to shave the old-fashioned way with a barber’s razor blade. That first time he had gained a cut for every hair he had lost as Moses was a terrible teacher when it came to anything even slightly domestic. Ask him how to make a person disappear on the other hand and he had all the wisdom in the world.

He sat Wes down on the toilet lid and knelt down in front of him as he got things ready. He put a bar of soap in a bowl with a few drops of water before scrubbing a thick brush over the top of it, creating a foamy lather. Then he used the brush to smudge the thick white cream over the younger’s face. Wes giggled silently and scrunched up his nose.

 _It tickles!_ He signs and Grady resists a smile.

 _Are you watching what I’m doing?_ He says sternly.

 _Kind of hard to when I can’t look at my own face._ He smirks real cheekily.

“It’s a shame.” He said, turning his face so Wes couldn’t read his lips. It was Grady’s favourite face in the entirety of the world. The way his soft emerald eyes crinkled with emotion and the way his lips soundlessly curled into a smile as he laughed. Grady could honestly grab a bucket of popcorn and watch Wes’ face with undying interest for hours on end. He knew it better than his own, every inch, every curve, and every angle.

He pulled a small mirror from the cupboard and handed it to Wes. _Better?_

 _Better._ Wes agreed.

In one hand Grady held Wes’ chin to keep him in place whilst the other dragged a smooth line up his cheek with the barber’s blade.

 _You see? On that angle._ He said, demonstrated which angle exactly that the blade needed to be at before handing it over to him. Wes’ brows knotted together in concentration as he tried his best to do as Grady had done, but as soon as the razor made contact with his skin, he drew blood immediately. He made a hiss sound as he winced and looked to Grady with a pout.

The brunette clicked his tongue and wiped the crimson blood away with his thumb. _Too steep of an angle. And you need to go against the grain for a closer shave._ He instructs and urges Wes to try again. This time he is somewhat successful but it still results in blood. Again, Grady wipes it away with the pad of his thumb and takes the barber’s blade from his hand. _Like this._

In a slow and practised motion, Grady swept the razor up from Wes’ jawline to the bottom of his ear lobe in a graceful movement. His other hand sat idly on his chest, moving with the rise and fall of the younger’s breath. Wes’ virescent eyes followed the older teenager’s every single movement with his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

Grady could feel it too, his gaze. There was a pressure growing heavier and heavier in the air around them but that was nothing new. They had first felt it long ago when Grady had initially defended Wes from some older boys in the home and since then it was almost a constant in their lives. But this time was different, the tension was almost unbearable, like their tiny bathroom could suddenly erupt from it at any given moment. Grady distracted himself with the task of shaving Wes’ jawline, but the longer he refused to meet his eyes, the more the traction snowballed.

Finally, Grady threw the shaving utensil to the floor. _Quit looking at me like that! I’m trying to concentrate! Do you want your face all cut up?_ He signed violently, his face angry, fierce and defensive.

Wes continued to look at him with his eyes tender and his brows turned downward. Timidly, he took Grady’s hand in his before running his lips over his knuckles with the same softness of a rose’s petals falling to the soil.

 _What…?_ The older signed lazily, his jarrah eyes instead holding the weight of the question. Wes didn’t offer any kind of an answer as he allowed his line of vision to sink to Grady’s thin, pink lips. With the same timidity, he leant forward and lightly rested his forehead against the other boy’s.

Grady’s heart was about to officially leap out of his chest at the lightning speed it was travelling at and his breath wasn’t far behind. He swallowed thickly as he closed his eyes and basked in Wes’ adoring touch. Then, to conclude their happy ever after, Wes cupped the nape of his neck and ever so tenderly pressed their lips together.

Something went off in both their chests as if this moment in time had been anticipated since the universe had begun and it was finally coming into reality. That pressure, the tight tension between them, vanished completely and instead the air was surrounded in a devotion that was so utterly clean and pure and benevolent.

Grady relished in the quiet sounds of smacking lips and Wes’ breathing through his nose as his lips were rather occupied. He disregarded the soapy lather on his face and cupped his cheeks to bring him in closer and closer until they morphed into a singular being.

They both smiled into the kiss before Wes pulled away.

 _I have wanted to do that since forever._ He grinned so brightly that his eyes seemed to sparkle.

 _You have no idea._ Grady signed quickly before pulling him back in to reconnect their lips.


	6. And They Get Their Nicknames

Neither of them could remember much of their lives before they came to live at the home, just miscellaneous snippets. Wes could recall being homeless before he could even walk, so close to death that his head had been the biggest part of his body and his skin had been yellow with malnutrition. He remembered being taken in by a woman once though, when he was maybe three or so, but she soon overdosed on heroin and that was the end of that. On a sweltering hot day in summer, he had fainted of heatstroke and one of the staff from the home had found him.

Grady could remember a little more than Wes although still not a whole lot. The textured scars spread over his body told the rest of the stories from those early years. He knew his father wasn’t very fond of him and one of his ribs was still misplaced from the damage he had done. When Grady had done something during the day, spilling something, accidentally breaking something, his father would wait for him to go to bed. Before Grady could actually fall asleep though, he would drag the buckle of his belt along the radiator on his way to Grady’s room, whistling a suitably dreadful tune. No matter where in his room he hid or where he tried to run, his father would find him and beat him within an inch of his life.

{**^**}

Wes had recently discovered whistling. He didn’t change the pitch, just one constant sound until he ran out of breath.

The first time he had done it, Grady was caught so off guard by the memories that came along with the sound that he ran out of the room, out of the house and out of the Tripoli property. He bolted down the road for almost six miles before he stopped in the gravel gutter and curled up into a ball. He cried into his knees for what felt like years over things he had managed to forget for so long.

Wes hadn’t noticed when Grady disappeared from the house, his back had been turned when he had whistled away jollily. But when he spun back to sign something to Grady only to find him missing, his heart sunk into his stomach.

He, Moses and half a dozen of the Tripoli button men search for him for hours. Wes could confidently say that those were the darkest hour of his life. His being felt empty and raw without the brunette’s brooding presence and the feeling of oozing dread brewing in his gut ballooned until he felt absorbed by the fear that Grady wasn’t coming back. He knew for certain that if Grady had met some gruesome end, he would die of grief. He simply could not exist in a world where he was not.

So at eleven o-clock, far past the sunset, when Grady came dragging his feet up the Tripoli driveway, Wes almost crumpled into a ball of relief. When Grady saw the fuss that had been made over him, he tried to apologise profusely to Wes with shame lining his pupils. But Wes wouldn’t have any of it. He just simply took the shorter man into his arms, breathing in the smell of his raven-coloured hair like it would be the last breath he’d ever take.

When Grady had been walking back to the compound, he had angrily mumbled resentful nothings about Wes. He couldn’t have explained to you why he was angry with his sweet-faced partner but he just was, probably for some ridiculous and irrational reason because he was hurting from the inside out. Now though, with his arms squeezing Wes’ torso and his face buried into his collar bone, he only felt guilt for ever having thought an ill thing about Wes.

Moses on the other hand was less than pleased to see Grady back. “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again. Wasting my time for hours on end.” He spat and clipped him round the ear.

“Thanks for the sympathy.” Grady had grumbled before really thinking about what he had said. Moses was a formidable force and it was rare for Wes and him to ever talk back and when they did accidentally let their mouths run, they learned to make their legs run too. Grady couldn’t run in this case though as he was stuck in their little kitchen.

Moses’ eyes shone like an icy liquid fire when he slowly advanced on Grady. “You were gone for nine hours. In those nine hours, I missed two meetings with very important people because I was searching for your sorry arse.” He whispered with a certain type of petrifying articulation that was more terrifying than any yell or shout or bellow could ever be.

Seeing as he was already in the deep end with Moses, Grady let the bottled angst and fury detonate. “And what if I had gone? You’d get another basket case kid to do your dirty work!” He screamed, his voice breaking.

“Maybe I would, but right now, I’m the one putting food on your table, supplying your bed and washing your clothes.” He snarled viciously but didn’t see the glimmer of fear he was hoping to see in Grady’s coal-black eyes so he moved an inch closer until they were head to head. The younger didn’t flinch or cower but instead gritted his teeth and this only pressed Moses further. “I wouldn’t go pushing my buttons, kid. Do you know how many people I’ve killed?”

With enough attitude to make a grown man drop dead, Grady ruinously rolled his eyes. “Eight hundred and thirty-six." It was a bullshit number he had pulled from the top of his head, but that wasn't the point. He was standing up to Moses and Moses wasn't slapping him around for it. Not yet at least. "If you kill me it’ll be eight hundred and thirty-seven.” He grumbled with a quiet type of simmering rage dripping off of his tone and went to walk away in attempts to have the last word.

Oh, how he should have known better.

“Alright then, Mr Numbers-“ Moses barked with his teeth bared as he grabbed a fistful of Grady’s shirt, his other hand about to grasp his knife from his sheath. But before he could do anything else, Wes had grabbed a wrench that had been sitting idly on the kitchen table and hurled directly it at him. Skimming the very tip of his nose, the wrench flew past Moses and stuck into the plaster of the wall behind him with such force, the house could have collapsed if it wanted to.

 _Hands off._ He signed with his eyes as deadly and protective as that of a lioness sheltering her cubs.

As Moses untangled his fist from Grady’s shirt, his raven glare flickered from one boy to the other and back again. “Don’t grow too big for your boots, you hear me Mr Wrench and Mr Numbers?"


End file.
